


Discretion Advised

by withpractice_ff



Category: Gyakuten Saiban | Ace Attorney
Genre: Drunkenness, F/M, Making Out, PWKM, Phoenix Wright Kink Meme
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2010-12-11
Updated: 2010-12-11
Packaged: 2017-10-17 05:47:58
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,391
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/173572
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/withpractice_ff/pseuds/withpractice_ff
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Ema and Apollo are too drunk to make-out.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Discretion Advised

**Author's Note:**

> For the kink meme prompt:
> 
> _I'd absolutely ADORE a story to go along with this picture;_
> 
> _http://www.court-records.net/arts/odogyaku/og4(b).jpg_
> 
> _It can have any pairing and any rating e.g. APOLLO AND EMA COULD TOTALLY DO IT WHILE PHOENIX IS OUT OF IT ON THE SOFA. Or it could be fluffy and they could...NOT do it while Phoenix is out of it on the sofa. Up to your discretion, really._

"And then he told me to get out!" Ema exclaims, her beer sloshing over the rim of her stein as she gestures emphatically. "Me! The freakin' detective!"

"Ema," Apollo says gently, very aware of the weight of her arm around his shoulders. "You're drunk."

"Such powers of observation!" she mocks, slurring minimally, then takes a swig of her beer.

"Mr. Wright is asleep," Apollo observes, and from his spot on the couch, Phoenix punctuates the statement with a snore. "Trucy's gone to bed. We should probably go."

"Justice, we're much too drunk to try to get home," Ema argues, shaking her head. "You said so yourself."

"I said _you_ were drunk," Apollo says, offended. "I can get home."

Ema narrows her eyes, puts her stein down on the already crowded coffee table, and points at him accusingly. "Oh no no no, Mr. Justice. Your cheeks are flushed, and your speech is slurred, and you've consumed six bottles of beer tonight. Scientifically speaking, you are _sloshed._ " When he doesn't argue, she grins and says, "So we might as well drink some more!"

And then her stein of beer is in his hands, and what the hell, it's a holiday: He downs the rest of her Sam Adams, nearly a full pint.

"That's the spirit!" she cheers, and the hand on his shoulder gives him an encouraging little pat. "Now get me another, you glutton!"

  


* * *

  


"Ema," Apollo says. He's whispering for some reason. He thinks probably Ema started it. "We gotta go to sleeeeeeep."

Ema is pretty much already lying down on the loveseat, her upper body draped over Apollo's lap. He feels warm everywhere she's touching him. She mumbles, "I'm already sleepin'."

"No," he says, standing so that she flops onto the cushion. "You can't go to sleep until we figure out where I'm sleeping."

"Sssshhhh," she says. "Mr. Wright and I are sleeping." Again, as if on cue, Phoenix lets out a long, low snore. He sounds like a grizzly bear. "You can sleep on the floor."

"What? No! _You_ sleep on the floor."

She looks up at him, slits where her eyes should be. After considering him for a moment, she grabs him by the wrist and pulls him down on top of her. Apollo lets out a surprised yelp, and Phoenix stirs, but he doesn't wake.

"What are you doing?" Apollo asks, still whispering.

" _We_ are going to sleep."

And then she shifts and shimmies against him until they're spooned together, his arm over her waist. He freezes against her, aware of every point at which their bodies are touching. He lies as still as he can, worried that if he moves the wrong way, something terrible will happen.

"Maybe I should take Mr. Wright's bed," he says quietly, watching as his breath ruffles her hair.

"If you want," is what he thinks she says, but it's so quiet and tired, he can't quite tell. Her shoulders twitch in what might be a shrug.

He could go to Mr. Wright's room. It would be a little weird, sleeping in his boss's bed, but certainly not as weird as being curled up around Ema Skye on a couch, Mr. Wright lying not five feet away from them.

"Ema," he whispers. She makes some sound of acknowledgment, but she doesn't otherwise respond. He says again, more urgently this time, "Ema."

She turns then, his arm still around her, until they're face to face, noses bumping.

"What?"

Her breath is warm on his lips. Before he can think better of it, he presses them against hers, closing what little distance is left between them.

She's slow to respond, still tired, but when she realizes what's happening, her fingers tighten in the fabric of his vest, and she arches her body toward him. She moans, delicate and pleased, into his mouth, and the sound of it makes him light-headed. The hand on her hip slides down to her back, untucks her shirt--when did she take her lab coat off?--and slips beneath the soft pink cotton. Her skin is warm under his fingers, smooth, and he wants to touch her everywhere. His other hand, the one between their bodies, comes up to cup her breast, and she makes that happy little sound again. It feels so nice, so relaxing, and for a moment she just closes her eyes and enjoys the touch.

"I'm tired," she says, pressing small, feather-light kisses to his chin and cheeks.

"Me too," he agrees, his hand moving down to her ass.

She perks at that, feeling a spark of heat shoot down her spine, up her legs, and moves her own hands to his chest, undoing the buttons of his vest.

It's not until her fingers are at his zipper that he realizes where this is going. He shoos her hands away. "Mr. Wright is _right there_."

"So?" she asks, leaning to trace the shell of his ear with her lips. "He's out like a stone."

"Like a light," Apollo corrects, then stops thinking as she sucks his lobe into her mouth.

He doesn't stop her when she eases him out of his pants, wrapping her hand around the base of his cock and sliding slowly up to the tip. He gasps, his hips jutting forward, and forgets all about Mr. Wright.

"I want you touch me," Ema says, and he lets out a whimper when she takes her hands off of him. When he sees that she's using them to undo the buttons of her vest, he helps her. When those buttons are all undone, he moves on to the buttons of her shirt. Somehow, she manages to divest herself of both, tossing them over her shoulder to destinations unknown.

Her skin is pale, smooth and endless, and his hands are greedy to touch as much of it as they can. Her skin heats where he touches her, and she reaches back down to take him in her hands. He thrusts into them, helpless with want.

"I'm going to--" He stops, still his hips, takes a deep breath. "I don't want to, not yet. I want to--"

"Me too," she says into his neck. "Let's take our pants off."

He nods, and they both move at the same time, bumping into each other in the process, and Apollo slides off the couch, knocking into the coffee table. The plates and glasses rattle, and a pair of chopsticks clatter to the floor. Phoenix stirs again, and this time he opens one bleary eye. He finds Ema on the couch in nothing but her bra and pants, and Apollo on the floor with his dick hanging out.

"Let's pretend I never saw this, hm?" he asks, then rolls over. In seconds, they hear another of his ridiculous snores.

They stare at each other for a moment, mortified, and then Apollo reaches down and puts himself away.

"I should, uh," he stammers, unable to look at her. "I'm gonna-- Yeah."

And then he stands, looks to Ema, who nods, and makes for Mr. Wright's room.

  


* * *

  


"So," Apollo ventures. They're standing outside of the Wrights' apartment, waiting for the bus. Ema doesn't respond, grimacing in the early morning sun. He continues, "I sure was drunk last night."

"Apollo, don't," Ema snaps. "I am too hung-over to expend energy on pretending we didn't try to sleep together last night."

Apollo's jaw drops, his mouth forming a perfect 'O'.

"It happened--or didn't happen, I suppose--and we were drunk, so let's just move on, okay?"

He nods, staring at her with something not unlike awe, and they fall into a slightly uncomfortable silence.

But he just can't help himself, and after a moment he starts, "If Mr. Wright hadn't woken up..." But Ema's staring straight ahead, her hand pressed against her forehead, so he stops. They spend the rest of their wait in silence.

Ema's bus comes first. He watches her board, some feeling he can't quite identify in his chest, and she stops on the first step, turns to look at him. She hesitates for a moment, then says, "If Mr. Wright hadn't woken up, I would have fucked your brains out. Maybe next time?"

And then the door of the bus closes, and Apollo watches as it disappears down the block.

He finds himself looking forward to next time.


End file.
